Sign Of The Moon

Prologue

Water thundered down from the mountaintop, screening the entrance to the cave with a shimmering cascade. Gray light filtered through it and shadows gathered in the corners of the cavern like soft black wings. Near the sheet of falling water, two kits were scuffling over a bunch of feathers, batting it back and forth and letting out shrill squeals of excitement. The pale tabby fur of the little she-cat and the tom’s brown pelt almost blended into the dark stone floor.

At the back of the cave, an old brown tabby tom was crouching in the mouth of a tunnel. His eyes were narrowed, and his amber gaze never left the kits. He was motionless, except for the occasional twitch of his ears.

The tabby kit leaped high into the air, clawing at the feathers; as she landed with the bunch in her paws her brother flung himself on top of her, rolling over and snapping at the feathers with teeth like tiny white thorns.

“That’s enough.” A gentle voice came from close by as a graceful brown tabby she-cat rose to her paws and padded across to the kits. “Mind you don’t get too close to the water. And Pine, why don’t you try jumping high like Lark? You need to practice for when you’re a prey-hunter.”

“I’d rather be a cave-guard,” Pine mewed. “I’d fight every cat that tried to trespass on our territory.”

“Well, you can’t, because I will,” Lark retorted. “I’m going to be a cave-guard and hunt prey, so there!”

“That’s not how we do things,” their mother began; a swift glance over her shoulder showed that she was aware of the old cat watching from the shadows. “Every Tribe kit has to—”

She broke off at the sound of paw steps coming from the narrow path that led behind the waterfall and into the cave. A broad-shouldered gray-furred cat appeared, followed by the rest of his patrol. Instantly the kits let out squeals of welcome and hurled themselves at him.

“Careful!” Their mother followed and gathered the kits in with her tail. “Your father has been on border patrol. He must be tired.”

“I’m fine, Brook.” The gray tom blinked at her affectionately and gave her ear a quick lick. “It was an easy trip today.”

“Stormfur, I don’t know how you can say that!” a black tom put in, shaking water from his pelt as he left the cliff path. “We waste our time and wear out our paws patrolling that border, and for what?”

“Peace and quiet,” Stormfur replied, his voice even. “We aren’t going to get rid of those cats, even though we do think they’re intruders. The best we can hope for is to protect our own territory.”

“The whole of the mountains should be our territory!” the black tom spat.

“Give it a rest, Screech,” a dark ginger she-cat meowed, with an irritable twitch of her tail. “Stormfur’s right. Things aren’t like that anymore.”

“But are we safe?” asked Brook. She glanced at the kits, who were now tussling over a morsel of rabbit fur.

“The borders are holding, mostly,” Stormfur told Brook, a worried look in his amber eyes. “But we did pick up the scent of other cats in a couple of places. And there were eagle feathers scattered on the rock. They’ve been stealing prey again.”

The ginger she-cat shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do about that.”

“We can’t just let it go, Swoop,” Stormfur murmured. “Otherwise they’ll think they can do exactly what they like, and there was no point in setting the borders in the first place. I think we should increase the patrols and be ready to fight.”

“More patrols?” Screech lashed his tail angrily.

“It makes sense to—”

“No!”

Stormfur jumped as a voice rasped out from the shadows and he saw the old tabby cat standing a tail-length away.

“Stoneteller!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Evidently.” The old cat’s neck fur was bristling and there was a trace of anger in his eyes. “There will be no more patrols,” he went on. “The Tribe has enough to eat, and with the thaw approaching, there will soon be more prey: eggs and young birds stolen from nests.”

Stormfur looked as if he wanted to argue, but he picked up a flickering glance from Brook and a tiny shake of her head. Reluctantly he dipped his head to Stoneteller. “Very well.”

The old cat stalked away. Making an effort to flatten the ruffled fur on his neck, Stormfur turned to his kits. “Have you behaved yourselves today?”

“They’ve been very good,” Brook told him, her eyes warm. “Lark is growing so strong and sturdy, and Pine jumps really well.”

“We’ve been hunting,” Lark announced, pointing with her tail toward the bedraggled lump of feathers. “I caught three eagles!”

“Didn’t,” Pine contradicted her. “I killed one, or it would have flown away with you!”

Brook met Stormfur’s eyes. “I can’t seem to make them understand that they’ll have separate duties when they’re to-bes.”

“They shouldn’t have to decide now,” Stormfur began, only to break off as Brook flicked her tail toward Stoneteller, who was still in earshot. He let out a sigh. “They’ll learn,” he murmured, a trace of regret in his tone. “Is there any fresh-kill left? I’m starving!”

As Brook led Stormfur over to the fresh-kill pile, to-bes and their mentors headed back into the cave, and Stormfur’s kits shot across the cavern floor to intercept them.

“Tell us about outside!” Lark squeaked. “Did you catch any prey?”

“I want to go out,” Pine added.

One of the to-bes butted his shoulder gently with his head. “You’re too small. An eagle would eat you in one bite.”

“No it wouldn’t! I’d fight it,” Pine declared, fluffing up his brown fur.

The to-be let out a mrrow of laughter. “I’d like to see that! But you still have to wait until you’re eight moons old.”

“Mouse dung!”

Stoneteller stood watching the to-bes and kits romping together for a few heartbeats before he headed back toward his tunnel. As he approached it, a gray-brown she-cat rose to her paws and padded up to him.

“Stoneteller, I must talk to you.”

The old tabby glared at her. “I’ve said all I have to say. You know that, Bird.”

Bird did not reply, merely stood there waiting, until the old cat let out a long sigh. “Come, then. But don’t expect any different answers.”

Stoneteller led the way into the second tunnel, and Bird followed. The sounds of the young cats died away behind them, replaced by the steady drip of water.

The tunnel led into a cave much smaller than the one the cats had left. Pointed stones rose up from the floor and hung down from the roof. Some of them had joined in the middle, as if the cats were threading their way through a stone forest. Water trickled down the stones and the cave walls to make pools on the floor; their surface reflected a faint gray light from a jagged crack in the roof. All was silent except for the drip of water and the distant roaring of the falls, now sunk to a whisper.

Stoneteller turned to face Bird. “Well?”

“We’ve spoken about this before. You know you should have chosen your successor long ago.”

The old cat let out a snort of disgust. “There’s time yet.”

“Don’t tell that to me,” Bird retorted. “My mother was your littermate. I know exactly how old you are. You were chosen from that litter by the Tribe’s previous Healer, the last Teller of the Pointed Stones. You have served the Tribe well, but you can’t expect to stay here forever. Sooner or later you will be summoned to the Tribe of Endless Hunting. You must choose the next Stoneteller!”

“Why?” Bird flinched at the harshness of the old cat’s retort but Stoneteller continued. “So that the Tribe can go on, generation after generation, scrabbling their lives from these uncaring stones?”

Bird’s voice quivered with shock when she replied. “This is our home! We have earned the right to live here many times over! We fought off the trespassers, remember?” She padded closer to Stoneteller and held out one paw appealingly. “How can you think of betraying our ancestors by not preserving what they began?”

Stoneteller turned his head away; there was a flash of something in his eyes that warned Bird he was not telling her everything.

At that moment a thin claw-scratch of new moon appeared from behind a cloud; its light sliced down through the hole in the cave roof and struck one of the pools of water, turning its surface to silver. Stoneteller gazed at it.

“It is the night of the new moon,” he murmured. “The night when the Tribe of Endless Hunting speaks to me from the sky, through reflections in the water. Very well, Bird That Rides the Wind. I promise you I will look for signs tonight.”

“Thank you,” Bird whispered. Touching Stoneteller affectionately on the shoulder with her tail-tip, she padded quietly out of the cave. “Good luck,” she mewed as she disappeared into the tunnel.

When she had gone, Stoneteller approached the edge of the pool and looked into the water. Then he raised one paw and brought it down with force on the surface, shattering the reflection into shards of light that flickered and died.

“I will never listen to you again!” Each word was forced out through bared teeth. “We trusted the Tribe of Endless Hunting, but you deserted us when we most needed your help.”

Turning his back on the pool, he paced among the pointed stones, his claws scraping against the rough cave floor. “I hate what the Tribe has become!” he snarled. “I hate how we have taken on Clan ways. Why could we not survive alone?” Halting beneath the rift in the roof, he raised his head with a burning gaze that challenged the moon. “Why did you bring us here if we were doomed to fail?”